Happiness is Dead Lard
by K. J. Pitre
Summary: Kyle has had enough with Cartman's bullshit. For the first time, Kyle devises a sinister plan resulting in Eric Cartman's permanent demise.
1. It Started with Mucus

**Happiness is**

**Dead Lard**

By: K. J. Pitre

**Prologue: Corpses Can't Talk**

_Life is supposed to be enjoyable. And it should be. And sometimes, hell, it is. To some people, life is the very reason they get up in the morning. It makes them know that there's an amazing day waiting for them outside of their front door. So they hop out of bed, put on their socks, pants, and a shirt, lace up their shoes, and jet out of the door with a smile that could stop traffic. Yes, indeed, for these people, life is all but too great._

_Even for the people who have it shit, they make the most out of it. Takes for instance, little 10-year-old Kenny McCormick. _

_Kenny lives in a small house; one story, small property. He used to get up every morning with the sense that his inevitable death would soon come, but since he stopped dying as of a few seasons ago, he has more of a bounce in his step and a twinkle in his baby blue eyes. He doesn't even mind that every now and then, few strands of dirty blonde hair would dance in front of his eyes, normally to which he would brush them back into the hood that consumed a majority of his head. He simply smiles and lets them bounce. He thinks it makes him looks a bit cuter anyhow._

_After school, he would go home and do his homework and ignore the constant bickering of his parents and the arguing of his brother and sister, and then hang out with the guys after school. He would go to bed on time in his smelly sheets, but always with a smile that he had a bed. He felt as if he were very fortunate._

_Of course, he knew, he wasn't as fortunate as his good friends Stan and Kyle were. They had the life. Nice house, loving parents, clean laundry. The list could go on, but Kenny doesn't like it think about it that way. Not when it could ruin his mood._

_Yeah, Kenny was one happy boy. He made other people happy. His loud and cute little laugh, his slightly perverted mind, and the infamous muffled "Woo-Hoo!" for when he felt really happy._

_All three boys, Kyle, Stan, and Kenny were happy for living and that every day was a new adventure. But as you now, all bright lights cast shadows. And this 'shadow' was roughly 4'5", and weighed approximately 178 pounds and 5 ounces. I don't even need to go into detail for you already know the bothersome boy I speak of. None other than Eric T. Cartman._

_The only reason why Eric Cartman would get up in the morning would be knowing that there was a warm breakfast on the table afterwhich he needn't say thank you, use napkins, let alone utensils, or brush his teeth. His clothes would be set out for him whenever he woke up, and there would be an extra dollar or two in his backpack for another snack at the cafeteria. All of which, he never was thankful for; he takes almost everything for granted, even friends._

_He never stopped to think why he ever remained he friend of Stan, Kyle or Kenny. Almost constantly, he rips of Kyle for being Jewish and Kenny for being poor. Only sometimes will Cartman make fun of Stan if he thinks his friendship with Kyle is 'funny.'_

_But after the course of his adventure this time, Cartman will be sorry, and he will not get the chance to be thankful for anything._

_Corpses can't talk._

* * *

**Chapter 1: It Started with Mucus**

"For the last time, Fatass, I am _not_gonna be a banker!" an angered Kyle shouted at Cartman.

"Fine, Kyle," Cartman countered. "If you're not gonna be a banker for being Jewish, you'll definitely get a job at 'Bluenote's'!"

"For what?"

"For being a fag."

"Goddammit, Cartman, shut your fucking mouth!"

"Don't call him a fag, Cartman," Stan defended. "That's not cool."

"Oh, the lover defends his butt buddy," Cartman laughed.

"Come on, dude," Kenny muffed. "You know him and Wendy are still going out."

"I say it's just a cover."

"Shut up, fat boy!" Stan snapped.

Finally the bus pulled up. They got onto the bus one by one, taking their regular seating arrangements. Stan and Kyle sat in one seat while Cartman and Kenny sat in the one behind them. It's been this way for as long as either of them could remember.

Cartman decided to take the simple pleasure of removing Kyle's hat, exposing his small afro.

"Gimme back my hat, Cartman!" Kyle barked.

"Fine, fine," Cartman answered. He put his hat on himself.

Kyle patted it to make sure it stayed on. Kyle was uneasy. He could hear his small little sound that bugged him. At first it sounded like gas seeping through a hole in a pipe, but the sound became more distinguished. It was the sound of Cartman's maniacal laughter. Kyle spun his head and stood on his knees to face the blob.

"What's so funny?" Kyle asked, getting annoyed.

"N-nothing, it-its' nothing," Cartman replied with a waving his hand to illustrate that it truely was nothing.

But it was something. Kyle had the feeling it had something to do with his hat, so he patted it again to make sure it was secure around his head. Cartman's laughter only got louder. Kyle had no idea what the hell it was. He had this weirdest feeling that the problem wasn't whatever was _on_his hat. Kyle slowly removed his ushanka and slowly being dragged from the roof of the inside of the hat to his hair was a thin stream of whiteish-yellowy thickness: mucus.

"Goddammit, Cartman!!" Kyle cussed.

Cartman only laughed ever the harder, this time falling on the floor. So what is Kyle immediate instinct? You guessed it: beat the living shit out of him. With a cry of rage, Kyle jumped off of the thin leather seating and onto Cartman's torso, and began to wail into his face in a blind fury. Kyle's beaten up Cartman before for making fun of his religion, _and_ for making fun of his hair. Doing both at the same time just saves time.

Not caring about it, knowing this is simply how they can get out their anger, Stan stood on his knees to talk to Kenny.

"Did you watch the Apprentice last night?"

When they got to school, Cartman had to be sent to the nurse's office immediately while Kyle sat outside the counsellor's office with his arms crossed and a pout smacked on his face.

It was English time in the class and, to the boys' luck, Mr. Garrison was assigned the 5th grade immediately after the boys moved up one. Isn't that a fantastic coincidence?

They were taking up poems. Clyde was just wrapping up.

"Because without you, there is no soul," Clyde recited. "And without the soul, there is no life. No you, no life. No breath."

Clyde removed the paper from his face as the class politely clapped.

"Thank you very much, Clyde," Mr. Garrison said marking his papers. "Maybe next time we take up poetry, you can do something a little less gay." He looked up from his papers and sighed. "Okay, who's next?"

Stan raised his hand.

"Yes, Stan? You have something?"

"No, sir," Stan answered. "I need a hall pass. I have to use the wash room."

"Okay, the pass is on the handle."

Stan walked to the handle and removed the pass walking out of the door. Butters shot his arm into the air and began to wave it like mad.

"Alright, _fine_, Butters," Mr. Garrison said. "You can go up."

Butters ran up with a smile on his face and began to recite someting about sun shines and apples. Mr. Garrison simply let his head slam onto the desk.

"Oh, God, fuck me."

Stan immediately walked past the wash room, he was aware, to see his friend outside the counsellor's office.

"Dude, you've been here for over an hour," Stan observed. "What's taking you so long?"

"Craig's in there," Kyle answered as his head rested in his folded arms on his knees.

"Oh, okay."

Stan sat next to his friend.

"So what's the difference between any other day you make Cartman cry? Why are you so bummed?"

"I... I don't know," Kyle admitted, finally raising his head and resting his back on the chair. "I would normally feel a _bit_ angry, if not pleased. But... It's just. Somehow, through all of the shit he does, this crosses the line."

Stan stared at his friend. "You're shitting me right? Did you forget the time he gave you AIDS?"

"I know!" Kyle exclaimed to the ceiling, standing up and taking a few steps forward. "I can't explain it either, it's just how I feel."

"So what are you gonna do?" Stan asked. "Kill him?"

Stan laughed at this. He expected to hear a second laugh to chime in with him, but when he opened his eyes, he saw Kyle looking at Stan almost as if he had given him an amazing idea.

Stan's smile slowly melted away as fear struck his face. "Get the fuck out."

* * *

After Kyle had gotten off the bus, he, without haste, ran straight to his house without even a goodbye to any of his friends.

"Kyle!" Stan called after him after getting off the bus. "Don't do anything stupid! I mean it Kyle!!"

Kyle ran through his door, dropping his bag and coat, and kicking off his shoes and ran upstairs without a hello to Ike, Sheila or Gerald. He ran to his desk and opened the drawer removing an untouched pad of paper and a led pencil. He opened the book to the first page while clicking the eraser twice. He began to write at the top of the page in big letters:

**How to kill Eric Cartman**

Once he began writing down possible plans, there was no stopping him. He let beads of sweat cascade off of his tendrils of blood-coloured hair and onto the wood of the desk. Each small idea that came to mind, he chuckled to himself and jotted it down with an evil smile. He was finally gonna get Cartman back this time. For good.

Hours past by and Sheila walked up the stairs and knocked on Kyle's door.

"Kyle, come out, please," she said. "I made dinner. It's your favorite. It's lokshen with cheese."

"I'm not hungry, mom," Kyle answered.

"What do you mean, 'you're not hungry?' You haven't eaten since lunch."

"I'm just not hungry."

Sheila gave up with a simple "Oi," and walked back downstairs.

For hours, Kyle continued to work on his evil plan. His pencil was at work for such a long time that his wrist began to cramp, and the friction of the led and paper practically went up in smoke. He didn't mind the pain in his wrist because it only reminded him of the countless times his people were belittled at the hands. When Kyle knew his work was finished, he dropped his pencil and looked into his hand; red with work. He raised the book above his head.

"Yes," he said. "Yeeeeess!" He began to laugh as an evil villian would. Something he would have never thought he would ever do.

But it was final. His plans were complete. All he needed now was an accomplice.


	2. With Food Comes Drama

_**NOTE:**_**I'm surprised I'm not seeing any reviews, people. I KNOW you can do better than that! By the way, there is a pole on my profile page. It asks whether you DO or do NOT want me to make a 'Being Alive' sequel. It will most likely be about how they find a place of their own or something like that. If you DO wanna see a sequal, you can also send in a suggestion on what you want it to be about. If you have ideas, go to the Being Alive story and tell me your idea in a review. Anyhow, thank you for sending the hit list on Being Alive to over 1,200. You all mean so much. Thanks a bunch! :3**

* * *

**Chapter 2: With Food Comes Drama**

Kyle awoke the next morning on his desk, to his buzzer. After wiping the 'sleepies' out of his eyes he turned his neck to the digital clock radio with a crack. It buzzed 7:45 am. He quickly pounded the big button on top of the mechanical annoyance and turned to his closet in search for a new change of clothes. After he had put on a fresh T-shirt, he sprayed himself down with Axe and looked at himself in the mirror. To him, this was his peak of 'beauty,' so to speak. In a few years he'll be growing zits on his face, his voice will drop lower, he'll grow into puberty's awkward stage eventually... It was all down hill. He was glad that none of these symptoms of age have conquered his fragile body as of yet. He felt fresh; new. He was on his way out of the door when he noticed the book on his desk. He had almost completely forgot what he had worked on all night. He picked it up and ran through the pages. He looked confused with every wrinkled page flipped.

"Did I do this?" he asked himself. "I couldn't have."

He continued to pass page by page until he reached on in which it consisted of Cartman and his digestion of fecal matter. At that, Kyle closed the book and bared his top teeth and tongue in disgust. He walked out of the door not noticing he hadn't dropped the book yet.

After his shower, he made his way downstairs and decided he hadn't enough time to eat. That was when his mom stopped him.

"Kyle," she said.

"What, mom?" Kyle asked, a little crude.

"I've never seen _that_ book. Did you steal it?"

"What bo-"

Then Kyle saw the book. He was a little surprised that he hadn't left it on the desk where he had found it. He shook his head and threw it behind him. Unknowingly, it landed in his backpack.

"Come on, Bubbi, at _least_ have some toast," Sheila pleaded.

"I'm not hungry, ma!" Kyle barked.

He turned around swooping up his bag and bolted out the door.

He was not in the mood to be pestered be his mom. It was already bad enough that he felt like crap. But why the hell _did_he feel like crap. He just couldn't remember. It was as if he had been drinking the whole night and didn't remember a thing the next morning. He scratched his head in confusion with a twisted face. He then just decided to drop the whole subject, pushing away the idea with his hand. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced his back like a thousand knives. His back cringed as let out a yelp of shock and pain. He turned around to view the criminal while rubbing the spot on his spine. Then he saw him. Cartman. That was it, wasn't it? It all came back to him like a lightning bolt. He remembered everything he had done last night and what it was for. His eyes burt into flames as he clenched his fists and bared his teeth like a rabid dog.

"Goddamn Jew!" Cartman barked. "You broke my fricken' nose! Now I have to wear this stupid plastic thing on my face for 2 months! I swear to _God_, Kyle, I _will_ get you back for this!"

During the bus ride, neither Cartman or Kyle talked to each other or even shot insults. They just sat there. Kyle could feel Cartman's eyes burning into the back of his skull. Kyle just knew it. Stan noticed that Kyle was getting more angry than usual. He leaned in and tugged the ear of his ushanka, but ever so lightly, in case Kyle decided to wack _him_ in the face next.

"Kyle?" he asked after another tug.

"What?" Kyle snapped, but in a low voice. Almost evil.

"Dude, what's up? I know you get angry whenever Cartman pushes your buttons, but this is just weird. I've never seen you _this_ angry."

"Really, Stan?" he asked sarcastically, but withholding his evil tone. "I'm pretty sure I've been angrier than this. In fact, I think I'm taking it quite well." He slowly turned his head to his friend. "Don't you agree?"

Stan simply sat there while being stared at, not knowing what to say. Stan slowly turned his head to look at the fast moving trees, figuring that Kyle wouldn't stop giving him that sinister glare until he occupied his sight elsewhere.

* * *

During lunch, Kyle sat outside on the bench, so that his butt wouldn't get wet from the snowy grass. He slowly nibbled on a sandwich his mom had made him: light mayo and honey mustard with thin slices of cheddar cheese and Tofurky. There were only a few kids who were actually outside with him. Not _with_ him, but, you know. There was Damien and Pip playing hide and seek, in which Pip would hide in the hallow space of the dead tree in the corner while Damien sat and created little flares with his eyes on dead leaves. Then there were the goth kids who sat behind the dead tree. They would carve their names and someone they once loved and then slash it out as many times as they could until they got inspiration for another poem based around blackness, the fiery abyss, bleeding shadows and whatnot. At that time, Kyle kind of felt like drawing his name in that tree and writing something, but it would just be weird. Besides, he promised Stan he would never ask him out or anything like that.

Besides the goths, Damien, and Pip, and himself, there was once child sitting on the hill by his lonesome that caught his attention. The boy managed to sit on the ground without getting wet for on the top of that one hill on which he sat, the snow did not touch. Kyle finished off his sandwich and shoved the plastic ZipLoc inside his brown paper bag and rolled it up. He stood up off of the bench and decided to join the boy. When he got closer to the hill, he noticed that the boy was not alone, he was with another, quite smaller. It was Dougie. And Kyle new very well, once he had finally reached the top, that there was only one other kid that would hand with Dougie.

"Oh, uh, hello, Kyle" greeted Butters. He seemed a little dark today

Kyle sometimes hated Butters' carefree smile and the fact that he always had to look on the bright side of things. Thank God he didn't learn that one Monty Python song, or else he would be singing it all day and night. To some degree, Kyle thought that Butters was actually kind of cute, but in a mere kiddy way. Kind of like when a teenage girl thinks her baby sister is cute, it doesn't make her a lesbian who's into incense, or whatever you call it.

"Hello!" Dougie said, a little too loudly. He had a thing for speaking loudly.

"Hi, you guys," Kyle greeted looking at the snow.

"W-we were just here preparing for the day where we strike," Butters said.

"Huh?" Kyle asked cocking an eyebrow.

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but..." Butters looked around himself to make sure he wasn't being watched. "You should sit down."

Kyle did so, placing himself beside Dougie. He didn't like how Dougie smelled. It wasn't bad, but it was just the smell of crayons. So he decided to scootch over next to Butters instead, who didn't smell _that_ much better, but he guessed that oatmeal and Gerber baby crackers smelt better than crayons.

"We are menaces to society," Butters finished with an evil look in his eyes. Despite how evil he tried to make himself appear, he always looked like a little baby.

"You're what?" Kyle asked.

"Me and Dougie here, we, uh, w-were deciding what dastardly deed to inflict upon the town."

"Really?" Kyle was slightly skeptical.

"Kyle," Butters began, leaning in, deepening his voice. "If we tell you what we know what how us villains are organized, and how we are constantly trying to destroy the town, you must forever be an assailant to our society of evilness."

"BUTTERS!" Dougie shouted. "You weren't supposed to tell him yet that we were villians trying to destory the town!"

"Oh, Jeez!" Butters cried cupping his mouth with both hands.

"It's okay, Butter," Kyle said. "That's what I came for."

"Well, uh, there is very little time, my partner is evil," Butters said, regaining his dark face. "We must act now? You must come to my evil layer, and we must create your evil persona. Mua-ha-ha-ha!"

"I can't, I have to go to my aunt's after school."

"Oh, then tomorrow then?"

"No, that's no good, my family is going to Swiss Chalet with the Marsh's."

"Then when is it good for you?"

"How about this Friday?"

"Then it is done! This Friday, you shall meet at my secret layer and we shall further lure you into the dark side. Mua-ha-ha-ha!"

"Mua-ha-ha-ha!" Dougie laughed.

"Um... Ha, ha, ha? ..."

* * *

That Thursday, at around 6 or 7 pm, and Marsh's and the Broflovski's were currently occupying two booths. Once booth contained the 4 adults, and the other contained the 4 children, Kyle, Stan, Shelly and Grandpa. Ike sat with Sheila in a booster chair. Naturally the parents talked up a storm. They never seem to not find something to talk about. There would be the occasional talk about how their boys would be the cutest in the school, and how they were the smartest, the most talented, the most athletic, and whatnot, then whenever Ike would burp, the men would laugh and the women who 'awww.'

Then at the _other_booth, there was little talk, if not none at all. Kyle and Stan would smile and chuckle every now and then when his Grandpa would talk about the war, after he had already forgotten that he did, and when Shelly got the cheese on her spagetti caught on her braces. But every time Kyle would laugh, his laugh slowly faded away. Stan's would linger for a bit, until he noticed Kyle's face, then it turned into concern.

"... We had to lie in the trenches for hours at a time," Stan's Grandpa ranted. "We had he shot guns in our hands ready to fire at those Goddamned Africans..."

"Grandpa!"

"Don't interrupt me, Billy, I'm trying to..."

"No, Grandpa, the Americans were never at official war this the Africans!"

"You weren't even alive! Now let me continue..."

Stan gave a sigh and looked at Kyle with one of those "it's like that every time" face with a smile, which made Kyle smile too, but, yet again, the smile faded away. Grandpa had to pee again, for the umpteenth time, and Shelly had to escort him in case he called any of the people sons-of-whores again. Once Stan was alone with Kyle, he leaned in.

"Okay, Kyle, seriously, what's up?"

"What?" Kyle asked, trying to sound normal. He failed.

"You've been acting weird all day. It's bothering me... a LOT."

"Well... there's nothing you can do."

He continued to poke at his rigatoni.

"Is it something I did? Did I say something?"

"No honey, it's not you, it's me," Kyle replied sarcastically.

Stan laughed at this reference to a marriage.

"Seriously, baby," Stan said with a laugh to see if Kyle smiled. Not this time. "I can't eat normally knowing you're upset."

"I'm sorry if you feel that way," Kyle replied shrugging, shaking his head.

Stan thought for a moment, then a bell rung. "Is it Cartman?" Kyle's head perked up. "I knew it!"

"So what?!"

"It just shouldn't bug you this much!"

"Kay, if you're gonna pester me about this, I gotta go!"

Kyle stormed out of the doors. "Kyle, come on!" Stan called after him. "Where're you going?!"

"Butters'!"

He was gone

"... Butters'?"


	3. Doctor Vile

**NOTE:**** Now, come on, people. I think we can do a **_**little**_** better than how we're doing! Now, I **_**know**_**that this story isn't getting as many hits because it's just a plain story. My strong point in fanfic **_**is**_**KylexStan, I know, but the only reason why I'm making this story is so I have an excuse to exclude Eric Cartman in my stories. I honestly hate him in my stories because I don't do anything with him. I have to kill him off because he's just there... and I don't like it. I know I gave it away, but none of you know **_**how**_** he's gonna die. So... there.**

**NOTE:****I'm trying to finish this story as best I can. I'm starting to hate it. I wanna get back to Mamma Mia!. I'll try not to sound too lazy.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Doctor Vile**

"Butters, be a good boy and get the door," Stephen requested sipping a coffee.

"Well, uh, _sure_, dad!" Butters replied cheerfully, wanting to do anything at all to please his dad.

Butters stood up from his coloring job with Dougie, ran to the door at top speed and twisted the knob, but opened the door slowly, since it _was_ raining. He creaked it open and saw a boy drenched in the downpour.

"Well, Kyle, what are you doing here?" Butters asked.

"I'm available," Kyle replied looking at his shoes slowly being soaked in. He could feel the moisture between his toes.

"Well, uh, that's very flattering, Kyle, uh, but I'm not a faggot."

"No, you idiot!" Kyle snapped. "You asked me to join your legion of darkness and I'm here!"

"Oh," Butters replied softly, but with a tone that identified this matter as 'top secret'. "I suggest you follow me."

Butters opened the door fully and allowed Kyle inside.

"Why, uh, you're all soaked. Let me take your coat," Butters said kindly. He then switched to his dark ego while addressing Dougie. "Professor, let us proceed."

* * *

Kyle looked around Butter's bedroom. He honestly couldn't imagine how anyone could live in this room. He could have sworn he saw glittery butterfly stickers on his dresser. He didn't see any television set, just a computer in the corner with the 'Hello Kitty Island Adventure' CD case pleasantly resting in front of the monitor. His vision then shifted to the vent next to the door where Kyle's coat, jacket, shoes, and socks lay wet and dead as to be dried. Kyle thought that what Butters was doing for him _was_ pretty nice, as he looked at his bare toes, but then a thought came across his mind that perhaps Butters was doing this just to gain friends. Who knows? Maybe this generosity and hospitality just comes out naturally.

Kyle's daze snapped off of his feet and onto the bathroom door from which Dougie and Butters emerged from, still elaborating. Their gazes finally broke off of each other and into Kyle's green eyes.

"We have come to a conclusion," Dougie announced loudly.

"Yes, we have," Butters nodded. "Kyle, first you now must swear alligence to our secret society of peril and unholiness."

"Okay, how?" Kyle asked.

"First, uh, you must raise your right hand."

"Kay," he said, doing so.

"And now you must repeat after me."

"Alright."

"_Oh, I'm so evil, yes I am, and in this evil nation_," Butters recited to the tune of Yankee Doodle.

Kyle repeated the song, a bit slowly an awkwardly, but he managed without gagging. Butters continued.

"_I'll do bad deeds, all times I please, except for masturbation_."

Kyle had to think for a moment about the last part, but finished the recitation.

"Okay, now what?" Kyle asked.

"Now, uh, you must join take this," Butter answered referring to a suit bag he was holding. "And try it on. It has to fit, or else my mom is gonna have to let it out."

Kyle hopped off of Butters' bed and grabbed the bag while heading into the closet.

He had no idea what he was doing at that time. All he knew was that in less than 20 minutes he was in the warmth of a delicious-smelling restaurant next to his best friend and now in the closet of an acquaintance who smelled like porridge, trying on an outfit he had made especially for him. But when he thought about everything that has happened that led to this moment, he cringed in disgust and anger once the thought of Cartman crept across this mind. Now he knew why he was doing this, to get him back for good.

Once he had finished dressing, he slid open the closet door and appeared before the boys, now dressed in their own signature 'attire of destruction.' Kyle was confused, but only slightly, feeling a bit more secure that he wasn't the only one that looked like a queer. Both Dougie and Butters wore capes and tin foil crafted gauntlets and helmets. Kyle looked roughly the same. He had tinfoil wrapped around his legs that started at the ankle and ended at the knees, making appear that he had boots on. He also had the same gloves as Butters did with a silver 'K' sewn into a blood-red shirt with a black cape sewn at the shoulders with tin foil spikes on his shoulder. His helmet looked like his ushanka, only it was, yet again, tin foil, only instead of the ear flaps, he had two spikes on top.

"And so it begins," Professor Chaos announced evily. "The birth of Doctor Vile."

"Doctor Vile," Kyle repeated to himself, enjoying the ring to it.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel... strong."

"And so you should! Now begins your reign of terror!"

"So... What do we do now?"

"We continue our evil deeds and wreak havoc on the little town. Professor, Doctor... Let us go."

* * *

Doctor Vile, Professor Chaos, and General Disarray walked over to the park where there were many children playing happily on the swings, jumping around the play gym, and going down the slide. Professor Chaos carried a bucket of water. Vile had no idea what he was using it for, but the Professor was so-said well-known. He trusted the Professor. He said he has been doing evil work so a long time now, and Vile didn't know who else to turn to in terms of getting back at someone. If it was wasn't Cartman, he would have _went_to Cartman's.

The three evil-doers hid behind a bush planted near the slide.

"So what shall we do to the unsuspecting public?" Vile asked, feeling truly sinister. And he liked it.

"Well, uh, I've got this bucket here," Chaos began. "I'm gonna pour it at the bottom of the slide. And once the dirt mixes with the water, it'll turn into mud."

The Professor ran to the bottom of the slide and poured the bucket as Vile looked at him with a confused expression. Was this his idea of evil? Perhaps they have to be small actions since this is Vile's firs day on the job.

Chaos quickly retreated to the bush to watch his plan unravel. He witnessed it with an evil smile as an 8-year-old boy slid happily down the slide. Once he leaped off of the steel, his sandals flopped into a mush of dirty mud. Once having the realization that his shoes were dirty, he began to cry with his arms in the air awaiting his mommy.

Chaos and Disarray threw their heads back and laughed evil cackles while Vile simply stood there and looked at his comrades with a "holy shit, they think this is evil" face.

"Are you serious?!" Kyle shouted.

"But, wh-what is it, uh, _Doctor Vile_?" Professor Chaos asked.

"Oh, shut up, Butters! This was a big mistake! I should have never wanted to ask for help to kill Cartman. The entire idea sounds stupid now! I'm leaving!"

"Wh-where are you going?"

"I'm going to kill Cartman _myself_!"


	4. The Real, REAL Death of Eric Cartman

****

NOTE:

**Okay, people, don't get me wrong here. I LOVE my stories; they all carry a part of me. But if there's any story I DON'T want to carry ANY of me, it's this one. I hate this story. I told you all why I started it, so I gotta grin and bear it and finish it. This will be the final installment.**

**NOTE 2:**** After I finish this story, and Mama Mia, I was wondering if I could do an adaptation of Footloose. Not the musical, the movie starring Kevin Bacon and John Lithgow (?). Ren McCormick will be played by our favorite hotty, Stan Marsh, and the role of Ariel Moore will be respectively handed down to my fav cutie Kyle Broflovski. I'm pretty excited. But tell me what you think.**

**NOTE 3:**** This will be my last ultra boring story, I promise. If anything more I write bores you, please tell me and I will make corrections. Thank you and enjoy!**

**Chapter 4: The Real, _Real_ Death of Eric Cartm****an**

* * *

The plan was utterly simple. Well, in Kyle's eyes it was utterly simple. Kyle may have been the smartest boy at South Park Elementary, but for the love of Jesus, this plan was so easy a monkey could figure it out. Kyle woke up early the next morning; he made sure his alarm was extra loud on the all-night, all-day South Park metal station, "97.1 KSBT; Kiss Boot." In fact, when the heavy guitar solo blared in Kyle's ears that morning at 6:30, loud enough to make his brain bleed all his memory from grade 2, his eyes opened with an extra flare of energy.

He swung his feet off the bed, tugged on a fresh new pair of snow-white ankle socks, readying himself for the day ahead.

After eating his breakfast of one banana, and a pocket-stuffed apple, he rushed out of the door without tying his boot laces which shortly after he paid the consequences for after his right soul made contact with ice, and his face with pavement.

When he got to school with a napkin to his left cheek (the doors were open because some students had before-school detention), he swung his backpack around off his back and in front of him as he bent down to reveal the contents of his sinister plan. And then Kyle thought of all the things he had done and what kind of person he had been to his friends and family that it would even cross his own mind to think of himself sinister and how half-convinced to go back home and get back to bed. Then he rethought everything as memories of Cartman flooded his mind. This action of the mind only unpacked his bag ever the faster with an evil smile and fire-struck eyes. He also brought instruments of pain in a wagon dragged behind him.

Inside the bag and wagon, and now on the floor, parse around him, was a container of dental floss (because after all, what evil plan doesn't have dental floss nowadays?), a thick fishing hook, a bucket of water, two bars of soap, a sack of potatoes, and a rope. The plan?

Kyle would tie the rope around the lower frame of the door that leads to the staircase. He tied the rope at the door at the top of the stairs; this was the staircase that _must_ be led down. There were two staircases. One went up, and one went down; kinda like street traffic. There was the big hallway on the second floor. It was in the shape of a long rectangle. Kyle would use the hook to jam it into on of the corners of one of the short ends of the rectangle. He tied the floss through the hook's hole and looped it through the age-made hole at the other corner of the rectangle. The floss continued diagonally upwards towards the ceiling centered above the floor. The floss than was put around the fire exit sign where a sack of potatoes was tied. The floss was transparent, but it was strong, but not as strong as Cartman's ankles when he walks right through it. On the other side of the short end of the rectangle where the floss was, between that end and the door to the stairs, Kyle would pour the bucket of water which was mixed with the dissolved bars of soap.

He stood back and looked at everything. It was perfect. Cartman was sure to fall into this trap; he had pre-school detention. He was the only one too, so he was the only student there other than Kyle. Speak of the devil, and almost literally, Cartman walked up the 'up' stairs with his bag hung over his shoulder. His free arm moved back and forth with every life-taking step he made; it looked like it was killing him to walk those stairs; it almost killed Kyle to witness it. When Cartman reached the top, he glared at the boy in the green ushanka and lowered his face, but kept his pupils focused as to give himself a more menacing look. It didn't work worth shit. He didn't want to talk to Kyle, and Kyle didn't want to talk to him either. He walked to his locker, twisted in his combination, and replaced his bag with his text book and note book. He closed the locker, snapped in the metal lock and continued to walk down the path of the floss. Right pass Kyle. Not even a nudge of disrespect.

"See you, Eric," Kyle said over his shoulder. Cartman stopped in his tracks. He turned around, inches from the floss, and looked at Kyle.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said goodbye." Kyle was fully turned around, now.

He walked up to Cartman slowly, but quickly at the same time. Cartman looked around and didn't know what to do. This moment has never happened between the two as far as he could recall.

"What are you doing, Kahl?"

Kyle lifted hand and lightly placed it on his chest. "Reclaiming my pride, you fat fuck."

And he was pushed lightly. He was moved through the floss, causing it to snap, dropping the 10-pound sack right on his head. Stars flashed in his eyes and consciousness was slowly pouring in and back out of his mind. He totted and swerved over until his feet met the sudsy water. He slipped quickly with a shout of surprise and even fear. The fat boy slipped right to the doorway leading to the down-going staircase. He tripped, yet again, over the thick rope, which sent him diving head-first down the stairs. The edges of the steps skidded against Cartman's nose, chin, and forehead, and bruised every limb he had as he tumbled down every step with jolts of pain surging throughout his body. He even landed on his head a couple times, both backwards and forwards. When Kyle ran to the stairs to witness the fruits of his labor, he could have sworn he had heard a crack.

And it was done. The large body laid at the bottom of the stairs a mangled and bloody mess. Kyle quickly ran down, but only ready to be utterly shocked and mortified when the corpse twitched and rose to its feet. When he turned to face Kyle, the boy could have sworn he had seen his brain bursting from a crack in his skull. How was this possible?

"I swear to the fucking Lord, Kahl," the zombie-lard said demonically, "as long as I stand strong, I will see to it that your head is ripped off of your body personally. As a matter of fact, I am easily tempted to murder you with my bare hands this very min…"

But before Eric T. Cartman could finish his sentence, Kyle quickly walked up to him, placed his face within his hands, and snapped his neck. His body fell thickly with a thump. He was dead. Finally. Kyle fell to his knees and collapsed, his hands supporting his weight and pushing into the large puddle of blood that seeped into the hallway. There were footsteps. Holy shit. It was Principal Victoria. Kyle was going to be given the worst punishment imaginable. Jesus Christ, what was he gonna do? But he couldn't move. He felt as though any punishment given wouldn't be enough for what he did. The owner of the footsteps peered around the corner with a smile. It was Kenny. He was smiling? He walked up to the corpse and gave it a small kick to make sure it was dead, and then a big kick for good riddance. He helped Kyle up to his feet and placed his arm around him.

"Oh my God," Kenny said meaningfully. "You killed Cartman." He looked at his friend. "You bastard." They smiled and laughed.


End file.
